


Best Laid Plans

by LadyVictory



Series: Multiple Impacts [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVictory/pseuds/LadyVictory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy Santiago returns to work after being shot by a perp. The squad does their best to return to the status quo – which for the Nine Nine means barely restrained chaos.</p><p>Sequel to Multiple Impacts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entropy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biggestbaddestwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggestbaddestwolf/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Not mine, not making a profit, blah blah woop woop that's the sound of the police blah.  
> AN1: Completely unbeat'd.  
> AN2: Starts off on the serious side, but it gets less heavy as it goes along.

It takes Santiago longer to return to work than it had Boyle. That irks her a bit, but the fact is that even getting up to use the restroom in her own home leaves her weak, pale and sweating for weeks. She allows herself the time, consoling herself with the fact that she, at least, will not be an insufferable pain in the ass when she finally returns to active duty.

  
It isn’t as if she is completely cut off, though. Rosa has been by to see her regularly, bringing with her tales of stupidity – her name for office gossip. She showed up the day Amy was sent home, full Key Food paper bags in hand, as if it were a given. Anyone else and Amy would be embarrassed and indignant, but Rosa is Rosa, oh-so practical and matter-of-fact. It wasn’t a thing.

  
Rosa shows up every few days. Just with fresh groceries at first, but then also to help with laundry and dishes when she finds Amy laid out on the floor after trying to lift her hamper.

  
When Rosa doesn’t show up for three days running, Amy knows it’s time to go back.

 

Boyle is so happy to see her, he is practically vibrating. Only a low growl from Diaz stops him from crushing her into a hug. As it is, his enthusiastic patting of her shoulder leaves her dizzy.

  
“I took the liberty of preparing you a welcome back feast! Nine courses, including sorbet cleansers!” he warbles, cheeks flushed with pride and excitement.

  
Amy recalls something her college Intro To Writing professor had told her; everyone gets one – and exactly one – exclamation point. In writing, and in life. Boyle has not only used up his own, but that of every acquaintance he has ever made.

  
Amy smiles tightly at her eager colleague, before excusing herself to her desk. The sound of Rosa slapping the back of Charles’ head makes Amy twitch.

  
“Ease off, Charles,” Diaz growl-whispers, and Boyle can only whimper ‘but, but, but the food!’ as he is pulled away by his ear.

  
Peralta is suddenly looming over her desk. “So…” he says in that false offhand way of his. Santiago is in no way ready for his brand of scrutiny – not with the headache that is building between her eyes and the tightening anxiety in her chest – but she grits her teeth and gives him what she hopes is a casual smile.

  
“So.” She figures echoing him will buy her time.

  
“So,” Jake says again, frowning a bit, like he hasn’t thought past his opener.

  
“Awwwwwwwk-ward,” Gina calls, sing-song like a 4th grade bully from across the room, where she blatantly stares at them while eating popcorn, as if this is her favorite show. Amy hates her a little, and spends a moment trying to melt Gina’s fake eyelashes to boiling goop with her mind.

  
“You’re back,” Jake continues, drawing Amy’s attention back to him. His hand twirls in a strange corkscrew motion, as if he expects her to roll over or play dead.

There are a million things she wants to say, all the words knock at the back of her teeth, but all she manages is, “Yes, I am back.”

  
“Well, good!” he says, voice high and slightly more nasal than usual. “It’s no fun winning our bet unless you lose by your own, uh, sucking!” He finishes lamely, scratching the back of his head like he doesn’t understand why the words are coming out of his mouth. Amy imagines this is not an unusual state of existence for him. Gina is right; this is awkward.

Santiago’s stomach is churning with anxiety and the silence stretches, becoming almost physically painful. She knows she should respond, that before she would have had a snappy comeback to sling back, but her ears are ringing like they did on that stairwell – ringing with gun shots and paralyzing fear – and she is struck dumb.

“Boy, what is wrong with you?!” Sgt. Jeffords is suddenly there, not in their space, but standing at Peralta’s desk, arms crossed over his chest and shaking his head in disbelief. “Quit harassing Santiago like you don’t have a job to do. She’s been out for a month, and she’s still kicking your ass in closed cases!”

If there was ever a time Amy didn’t love Terry like he hung the moon and stars, she can’t remember it.

“Whatever, I totally have this under control,” Jake grumbles, waving his hand in the air as if his sergeant’s words are smoke. He turns to his fellow detective and points a finger at her, moving it like he is drawing a circle around her body. “It’s like that race, with the rabbit and the turtle. I’m the rabbit, totally leaving you in my dust.” He begins doing what passes for a moonwalk in Peralta-world, back to his desk.

Santiago just stares, amazed that such an intelligent and accomplished detective can be so obtuse sometimes. Jeffords is the picture of incredulity as Peralta backs into his body.

“You mean the tortoise and the hare?” he asks, as Jake spins around so he can see both the Sarge and his partner.

“You do understand that the hare loses, right?” Amy adds, shaking her head.

Jake shrugs, again waving if off.

“Details, details,” he scoffs. “The point is, you are so goin’ down, Santiago.” He points two fingers at his eyes, then at her.

Her eyes almost roll out of her head, and something in her chest loosens a bit, like things could maybe be okay someday.

Terry lifts Jake into the air by his shirtfront with one hand. He gives the smaller man a good shake, like a naughty puppy who has chewed up his work shoes.

“Stop bothering Santiago and get your ass back to work, before I give her permission to tase you.”

“Don’t tase me, bro,” Jake mock-simpers in Amy’s direction. Terry shakes him again, and he wheezes. “Okay, right, sorry sir.” The dangling man salutes as best he can.

Terry lets go, and Jake lands awkwardly on his feet like a wobbly cat. He brushes invisible dust from his shirt, then motions between Amy and his eyes again, flinching when Terry stomps in his direction. Amy is distantly amused by the happenings, but mostly numb. 

When Peralta has sauntered away, Jeffords pulls up a chair and sits next to Amy – making sure to leave plenty of space for her to back up or get up should she choose to. She takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the coddling disguised as a ‘supportive’ speech that she knows is coming.

Instead of speaking, the large man just waits until she meets his eyes. When she does, he places an open, relaxed hand near her own on the desk. She hadn’t noticed that she was clenching hers into a fist. He looks at her, face calm, breaths even and deep. She finds herself watching his chest expand and contract, and suddenly realizes the ache in her own chest is partially from holding her breath.

They stay like that for a while, until she is more centered, breathing more normal.

After she is visibly more relaxed, he stands and nods once.

“I’m here,” is all he says, then turns and walks away.

It takes all of Amy’s considerable willpower not to break into tears.

 

On her second day back, Amy realizes that Scully – SCULLY – is more prepared for the morning brief than she is. The shame spiral she swirls into is almost a comfort, because she feels more like herself than she has since she woke up in that hospital room.

As the detectives file back into the bullpen, Santiago can feel all their eyes on her. When she reaches her desk, she notices Boyle looking at her with concerned puppy-dog eyes, and Peralta being dragged into the break room by the ear by Diaz. Gina just frowns around her phone from her perch on her desk, though Amy isn’t sure if the assistant is concerned with her, or her progress in her loud and explosively colorful game app.

Rosa reappears alone, and plops herself down at her desk. Amy tries not to look, hating that she hasn’t said two words to the other woman since before she came back to work, but not knowing how to bridge the distance. Their routine was the only thing that got Amy through those first few weeks, and the sudden absence of Rosa in her life has left her off balance.

“Santiago,” the Captain calls from his door. Instead of excitement at being summoned into Holt’s inner sanctum, Amy is filled with a heavy and dark sort of dread. As she stands, Santiago notices her hands are trembling and hides them in her pockets.

Walking by Diaz desk, Santiago feels the other woman’s fingers brush the exposed skin at her wrist. The contact warms her briefly, and it is all she can do to keep walking and not acknowledge the touch. She isn’t sure if Rosa is being discrete to protect Amy’s pride or her own, but she is grateful for even the little connection between them.

The Captain has retreated to his desk when she enters the room.

“Have a seat, please,” he requests, hands folded in front of him.

Amy nods, clearing her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

Holt waits patiently as she struggles with what to do with her hands – leave them in her pockets, sit on them, tape them together – and nods as she settles on interlocking her fingers and resting them on her lap.

They sit in silence for long moments. The Captain’s eyes are heavy on her skin. Amy does her best to keep from fidgeting or folding in on herself.

“I understand that the coming weeks will be a… difficult period of adjustment for you,” Holt begins. 

A shadow of Santiago’s former fawning emerges from the numbness, and she quickly interjects.

 “Sir, I know that my performance at today’s briefing was not up to standard, but I can assure you that I’m ready and able to jump back on the horse.”

“If there is any of my detectives that can be trusted to be present and prepared, it is you Santiago,” Holt acknowledges, matter-of-fact but not unkind.

A month ago, Amy would have been frothing at the compliment, possibly actually having a stroke. There is a flutter in her chest, something that might have been pride, but she barely manages a smile.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Holt leans back, brow furrowing ever so slightly, but goes on.

“Being a police officer, in my opinion, is not a job or a career, but a calling. I think that is something we have in common, Santiago.”

Amy unconsciously mimics his posture and expression. “Of course, yes, absolutely sir.”

“Being a Captain in the NYPD is as much a part of my identity as being gay, or of color. I take my duties very seriously.”

“Clearly.” Amy’s small grin is genuine, and the corners of the Captain’s mouth twitch upward for a moment.

He continues, nodding once. “My squad – as Peralta so eloquently put it in his Thanksgiving speech – is like a family. My detectives are like my children.”

Amy nods. “Some of us more child-like than others,” she quips, smile again forced.

Holt raises an eyebrow and nods. “Indeed. The point I am attempting to get at is that, one of my people was hurt. Badly. Not through any fault of their own, but it happened.”

Santiago wishes that she could summon the fanatical enthusiasm of her former self. She wishes she could be the woman who was responsible for that 8 page Thanksgiving speech, who thought that getting critiques like ‘awk for awkward’ was the best thing that could happen to her. That woman would be sobbing with happiness right now. That woman deserves to hear these words from her Captain.

“Sir, really, I am f-”

“Recovering. You are recovering. Admirably. But, to return to my analogy, like any parent I am torn between sheltering my child from the dangers of the world and letting her stand on her own two feet.”

He stops, taking a deep breath. He looks down for a moment, regards his hands. They are clenched as tightly as hers, nail beds bloodless.

“You are an adult. You are an intelligent, independent woman who is fully capable of taking care of herself. My feelings of… protectiveness have nothing to do with your efficacy. I trust you to know what is best for you.”

“Thank… you?”

The Captain looks up, and for the first time, Santiago can read emotion in his eyes. A touch of fear, and a profound sadness. The air goes out of the room, and Amy’s heart thuds in her chest painfully.

“Out of respect for you, I will ask you this question once, and then never again.” Holt pauses, seeming to steel himself. “Are you able to continue here?”

Shivering now, Amy can only nod, the motion jerky – unnatural. The world feels like it has expanded so much that it has faded into nothing, like total entropy. Like the lights are physical, too bright and cold, and she is naked, exposed.

Holt leans forward. “I do not expect you to be the woman you were before the shooting.” Santiago flinches at the word ‘shooting,’ the ‘t’ sound sharp. “All I expect is that you will be honest about what you are going through – and that, if you need it, you will ask for help.”

Amy’s mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish out of water. She can’t decide if she is grateful for his honesty or insulted at his presumption.

“Take the next few weeks to think about what is best for you. I would like nothing more than for you to stay here, in the Nine Nine and this family. But know that I will be supportive, and… proud, no matter what your decision.”

 

Diaz is hovering near the Captain’s door when Santiago finally emerges. Well, hovering as much as she can – which is to say standing firmly planted, arms crossed over her chest.

Their eyes meet, and without a word Rosa turns and walks away. Amy follows.

They end up in Babylon. Amy is sobbing before the other woman has a chance to fully shut the door.

Diaz’s arms are strong and warm around her, drawing her close. She says nothing, only holds Amy as she cries herself out. Amy clutches at Rosa’s leather jacket as if the taller woman is the only solid thing in the world.

When Santiago finally pulls back, she winces.

“Your jacket...” she murmurs, trying to wipe away the moisture from the leather. She only succeeds in spreading it around.

“It’ll dry,” Rosa says nonchalantly, like Amy hasn’t spent the last 20 minutes attached to her like a baby howler monkey.

“Listen, Rosa… I’m really sorry.” Amy feels weak and ashamed, and cripplingly shy. She looks down at the ground, jaw tight with the effort it takes to keep from dying of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to, you know, have a meltdown on you.”

“Shut up, dummy.”

Shocked, Amy’s eyes snap up to meet Rosa’s.

“Excuse me?” she says, though it sounds more like an ‘excuse _you_.’

Rosa rolls her eyes, going to her neutral stance of arms crossed over her chest, hip cocked aggressively.

“You cried. It happens. Everybody does it.” Amy blinks, tilting her head as if Rosa has grown a third eye. “What, you think I don’t cry?”

“Well, I mean…” Amy hesitates, shrugging deep. Her shoulders are so tense that the motion is painful.

“Well I do. I cry. I get scared too.”

Uncrossing her arms, Diaz shrugs off her jacket and unbuttons the top of her blouse. Santiago’s eyes widen, goggling, confused.

“Relax,” Rosa chides. “I’m not going to jump you.”

Rosa’s acknowledgement of the strange tension that has built between them since the shooting is both reassuring and off-putting. Amy again doesn’t know what to do with her hands – what is the appropriate posture for when your partner is undressing in front of you in a secret bathroom oasis? – and again settles for putting them in her pockets, trying to stand at casual-relaxed.

Having completely unbuttoned her shirt, Rosa slips the material open and turns, exposing her side. There is a long, thin scar under her right breast, along her ribs.

“First year in uniform, I had the night shift. Walked the same beat for a long time. About six months in, a strung out crack-head jumped me with a butcher knife.” Rosa stops, taking a deep breath. “I had a vest on, but it was one of those old two piece monsters with the gaps at the sides. We had newer ones, but I was a rookie, and a girl… you know how that goes.”

Amy nods, well versed in the bullshit female police officers have to navigate to in order to even get near base level respect. Before she can stop herself, she is reaching out, tracing the old wound with a shaky finger.

“What, what happened to him?”

“He’s still in prison.”

Rosa begins to button her shirt again, and Amy snatches her hand back, as if burned.

“For months after, I refused to walk by that alley. Then one night, I was across the street, and I saw a woman get mugged there. I froze. Perp got away with her purse. She was okay, but…” Diaz looks down, ashamed of her past self’s behavior.

“Oh, Rosa… I…” Amy can’t think of something adequate to say.

After a moment, again fully dressed, Rosa looks up, expression fierce.

“Who was going to protect those people, clean up that spot if it wasn’t me? Crying doesn’t make you weak, curling up in a little ball and trying to hide does.”

The room begins to fade again, Amy feels herself dissolving.

“How?” she asks through her rapidly closing throat.

“Took time. I was still scared, but when it got bad, I had Jake. He was… like an annoying kid brother. A total ass. Distracting when I needed that.”

Amy pulls a face and shakes her head. “I don’t think I can talk to him about this…”

Rosa shrugs but smiles a little, reaching out and taking Amy’s hand.

“You got me.”

Amy wants nothing more than to smile, to go in for a hug, but something holds her back.

“Everyone’s so… supportive.,” she says instead, looking away in shame. She pulls away from her friend. “Like I'm a ticking time bomb ready to explode any second.”

“Or like you were shot in the chest and almost died.”

Rosa does not pull any punches. It is one of the many things Amy admires about her.

“Look, Santiago – Amy – no one thinks you can’t cut it. We know you’re good.” Amy can’t help but smile a bit. “But no one expects that you’re gonna jump back into it like nothing happened. You’re human.”

“But Boyle…”

“Got shot in the butt. He saved my life, totally deserved that metal, but he was not near death.” Now Rosa looks away, swallowing hard, a haunted look taking hold of her usually stoic face. “I watched you get shot. Your blood was all over the floor. You… you stopped breathing, had to be resuscitated…”

 

_And Santiago is back there, in that stifling stairwell, an elephant on her chest and the ocean roaring in her ears. Rosa is saying something, her hand an agonizing pressure on the hole in Amy’s shoulder._

 

Amy snaps back, frozen in terror. Rosa has a knowing look in her eyes.

“Eventually you’ll be able to make it an hour without thinking about it. Then two hours. Then a day.” Rosa reaches out and cups Amy’s cheek. The shorter woman flinches, but Rosa doesn’t pull away. “There is nothing weak about what you are feeling right now. Or about asking for help either.”

“Do you think I need help?”

Rosa shrugs. “I think only you get to make that call. Either way, I got your back.”

There is a tangled rush of emotion that starts in Santiago’s stomach and bursts up into her chest and head. It is overwhelming after the strange numbness or paralyzing fear of late. She is kissing Diaz before she understands what she is doing.

It is desperate and sloppy, and not at all like Amy usually kisses. It goes on for a small eternity.

When she pulls back, Amy’s hands are tangled in Rosa’s curls, their bodies flush against each other. She rests her forehead against the taller woman’s shoulder, panting like she’s just run a marathon, lips tingling. Rosa’s hands are around her, holding her close, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her ass. Amy feels safer than she has since she woke up in the hospital bed. Hell, she feels, something other than terror or nothing, which in and of itself seems like a small miracle.

Horror, like a dense fog, rolls over her, filling her, twisting her stomach and tightening her limbs.

“Amy…” Rosa starts, recognizing the expression on her face.

“Oh my God, I am so, so sorry!”

“Amy, relax. It’s okay.”

Rosa tries rubbing small circles on her back, but it only makes it worse.

The arms that were seconds ago a safe haven are now a prison, closing around Amy like a cage. She shoves her way free.

“So sorry, I am so sorry!” she mutters. And before Diaz can react, Santiago is gone.

Rosa sighs, rubbing her forehead and scowling. “Shit.”

_tbc_


	2. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy Santiago returns to work after being shot by a perp. The squad does their best to return to the status quo – which for the Nine Nine means barely restrained chaos.
> 
> Jake schemes, Rosa contemplates, and Amy flips the script. Mostly Rosa-centered chapter.
> 
> Sequel to Multiple Impacts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN1: Completely unbeat'd.  
> AN2: Starts off on the serious side, but it gets less heavy as it goes along.  
> AN3: Jake. Jake is my boy. He is brilliant. His plans are always more than what they seem. Trust in Jake.

“This is a brilliant idea.”

Jake looks so proud, Rosa almost feels bad raining on his parade.

“This is the _worst_ idea.” Almost.

Rosa raises her eyebrow as Jake pouts at her.

“No, definitely brilliant,” he insists, leaning close over the break room table.

“You really think dressing up like Ocean’s Eleven rejects and fake holding the squad hostage will make Amy _less_ freaked out about being back at work.” It isn’t a question. Her blink of incredulity is so intense, it is almost audible. “How are you even a detective?”

“Okay, first of all – ouch, uncalled for – and second of all, you know my hair-brained schemes always work out in the end.”

“Like that time you convinced Captain McGinley that the only way to stop the Phantom Gooser was to go undercover in the circus?”

Diaz raises an eyebrow, and Peralta scrunches his face

 

_The two detectives converge on the circus tent, Rosa from the North and Jake from the South. He adjusts his clown nose with one hand, sweat making the paint run down his face._

_The suspect stands in the center of the large tent, a lone spotlight on him. He looks back and forth between the police officers, holding up his hands._

_“I guess ya got me.”_

_They both approach, Rosa cuffs out and ready, and he is in custody within seconds. Jake goes off on what she is sure he believes is an incredibly clever tangent, but is nothing short of agonizing to listen to._

_“Oh, one more thing,” the perp says, as Jake is winding down. Before either detective can say, ‘wha?’ there is a bang and a flash._

_When the smoke clears, Rosa already knows the guy is gone. Coughing, Jake waves their hands in front of his face, then looks down, confused. Rosa’s handcuffs link them together._

_“Whoops…” Jake says, smiling sheepishly._

_Rosa only shakes her head, mentally counting to ten so she doesn’t strangle her best friend._

 

 

“Well how was I supposed to know he could slip the cuffs?” Jake whines, crossing his arms over his chest.

“His stage name was Harry the Second. Like Houdini.”

“Ohhh! I thought he was supposed to be the bearded man.”

“That would be stupid.”

“Yeah, no, that makes much more sense now… You looked great as the knife thrower’s assistant, by the way.”

“Obviously.”

“Also, honest mistake. His stage-name was completely ambiguous.”

Rosa doesn’t reply, just stares at him in silent judgment. Pulling at his collar, Jake clears his throat.

“Moving on…” He sighs, holding his hands out in a beseeching gesture. “Look, it’s been three weeks since Amy’s been back. She hasn’t tried to get decorating tips from the Captain, or commented on the color of Scully’s toe-growth – which is disgusting and orange and I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

Rosa nods in agreement. Scully’s new growth is gross, and if she could get away with it she would cut it off herself then burn everything that ever touched it.

“She hasn’t gone out on a single case, Rosa. And yesterday, when I threw myself an ‘I’m ten cases ahead of Amy' party, she just said ‘that’s nice Jake.’”

“And?”

“She doesn’t even look up when Gina shoots spitballs at her desk anymore. She just… does paperwork. Quietly.” He sounds pained, like that is the worst thing he can think of.

“Paperwork is part of the job, Peralta.”

“Dude, Santiago finishes her paperwork for a case before we get back to the prescient. It’s eerie, actually; I’m not sure how she does it. I suspect she’s a cyborg linked directly to the main server, but I don’t have solid evidence yet.”

Rosa sighs, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“She was shot, Jake. She needs time to recover.”

“This is more than that. This morning, Captain Holt complimented her on her hand writing, and she said thank you.”

Rosa is in danger of losing her temper now. She can feel it flare inside her chest. But this is Jake being concerned about Amy, and so she does her best to be patient. She rubs at the scar on her eyebrow with one finger.

“Leave it alone Jake.” The warning is surprisingly mild, considering how protective Rosa is feeling right now, but it is also clear.

Jake gives her a look like she is an idiot – an inferior version of her own default expression – and she resist the urge to flick his forehead.

“That’s not like her. You know what I mean, you’re just being remarkably more stubborn than usual.”

And, she does know what he means.

It is bordering on frightening, just how reserved Santiago has been since she returned. More so from Rosa’s perspective, because during her at-home recovery, Amy was – while tired and a little subdued - for the most part hopeful and talkative. Since coming back to work, she smiles when it is appropriate and interacts when directly engaged, but something is off. The Santiago spark – present during her recovery – is now missing.

Rosa has tried to corner her at work, or drop by her place, but Amy makes sure they are never alone on the job since that day in Babylon, and hasn’t answered her door since she came back to work. It’s troubling, and a little insulting, but Rosa understands some of what Amy’s going through, and it’s not in her nature to pry.

Sighing, Rosa shakes her head once.

“It takes time, man. You remember what I was like after Peters…”

Peters. The junkie who tagged her with a rusty butcher knife. She still thinks about him sometimes, still feels a twinge of fear when it is late at night and she is near that alley. To spite it – and him – she makes sure to pass that alley every night.

Jake nods, his only acknowledgement of her difficulty.

“Amy’s totally lost her mojo; she is mojo-less. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t see it.”

“And you’d be a selfish idiot if you expected her to be all smiles and crap after what happened. Are you an idiot?”

They glare at each other over the table, neither saying a word. Something like desperation flashes through Jake’s eyes; Rosa knows where he is coming from.

 

The bullet that passed through Santiago’s shoulder did surprisingly little damage. Diaz knew from experience that a .45 was capable of practically disintegrating tissue and pulverizing bone. But this one seemed like it was a half dud – strong enough to pass through Amy's body, but just barely. It hit the wall and bounced off, skittering down the stairs.

The first bullet, though, it was at full strength.

If Amy weren’t Amy, and hadn’t insisted on wearing vests even on such a routine arrest, she would be dead. The first bullet packed enough punch to crack two of her ribs, and make the Kevlar unusable. It also threw her heart out of rhythm, and temporarily paralyzed all the muscles in her diaphragm.

Rosa hadn’t lied when she said she was giving Amy CPR. While she _had_ skipped the seminar at work, she had made it up on her own time, taking an EMT course with the FDNY – twice a week, nights, for two months.

Diaz had stripped the demolished vest off her fallen partner, and, using her own jacket to staunch the flow of blood in her shoulder, had begun the cycle of breaths and compressions. She hadn’t stopped until the paramedics arrived, twenty minutes later.

Since then, she had woken up every night sweaty and shaking from nightmares where it wasn’t enough. Where Amy had never caught her breath back, or the ambulance didn’t come, or the worst, her strength failed her and she couldn’t continue the CPR.

She didn’t leave Amy’s side in the hospital – a full seven days – other than to shower and change, or to go to the bathroom. She blew a whole month’s savings on getting food delivered to the room for all her meals. Eventually, the hospital staff began bringing her snacks on their rounds, because they realized that Rosa wasn’t leaving, and that she was a million times scarier when she was hungry.

After Amy left the hospital, Rosa tried to stay away as much as possible. She limited herself to three visits a week at first, knowing that Amy would want her independence back ASAP. But, it was hard – very hard – for Rosa, who had a weird tightness in her chest when she couldn’t make sure Amy was okay with her own eyes…

 

“You can’t expect her to get over this just because it makes you feel better. That’s bullshit,” Rosa says, mostly to Jake, but a little to herself.

Jake is as serious as Rosa has ever seen him. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

Anger flashes through her immediately, only slightly hotter than the guilt she feels.

“There was no indication this perp would be violent. Everything happened fast.” She says it like she would in court, eyes boring holes into his face.

“I know,” Jake sighs, completely impervious to her stare. “You guys did your jobs – hell, you went in and were straight up super heroes.”

“What, then? It shoulda been me?” If that is what he is getting at, it may be the last thing he says – besides begging for his mother. Rosa knows what she is worth, knows that she is not disposable or a stand in for someone else. Still, it hurts.

“What? No! A thousand times no! Though, to be fair I think everyone on the squad would agree you could deflect a bullet with a look. It’s just…” He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it up. It makes him look boyish as well as sad. “It’s just Amy, ya know? Amy, who takes fashion advice from her thirteen year old cousin, who thinks the Cha-Cha Slide is an informative study in dancing. Amy, who says things like… well, pretty much anything that comes out of her mouth. She doesn’t deserve… you know.”

Rosa nods once, because she understands.

“Yeah.”

Taking a deep breath, Jake shakes his head hard, so that his mouth makes weird squelching noises. Rosa grimaces in disgust.

“Right, so, we are left with the problem of Amy’s lack of groove – and ways to get it back. Seeing as Taye Diggs is not an option, I think my plan is tops.”

“Tops? Who says tops? What are you, British?”

“Aces?”

Rosa just stares.

“Okay, dope then. My plan is super dope. The dopest. But it won’t work unless everyone is on board.”

When Jake is cooking up a scheme, talking to him is like talking to a telemarketer. Rosa hates telemarketers.

Rosa stands, her chair making a terrible scrapping noise. Wincing, Jake holds his arms out in an all encompassing gesture.

“Oh come on, it’ll totally work! Fake danger, Santiago being the super smart hero, bam! Mojo restored by dinner.”

“You’re an idiot.” Diaz growls as she passes him and moves towards  the door.

He swivels the chair, which groans at the treatment. “Whatever! You just don’t have any vision!”

She flips him off as she marches out of the room.

Boyle peaks into the door.

“You’re a visionary, Jakey.”

“Do you even know what we are talking about?” Peralta eyes his co-worker dubiously.

“Nope, but if I know anything, it’s how brilliant you are, Jake-er-ino!”

Jake nods, face scrunching up in what he thinks is a thoughtful expression, but makes him look more like he has gas. Inspiration strikes him, and he motions Charles into the room. The older man scurries in, dropping into the seat vacated by Diaz.

“SO, I’m sure you’ve noticed Amy’s lack of being… well, Amy, lately. Yes?”

“Y-yes?” It’s more of a question than a statement.

“Me too! But, I have a plan…”

 

Santiago is at her desk studiously looking at her computer screen when Diaz enters the bullpen. It looks suspiciously similar to the Amy-eavesdropping-but-pretending-to-do-work-she-already-did posture, but that is a pre-incident behavior, so Rosa knows it can’t be. Amy hasn’t had an interest in the goings on of the squad since she returned to work.

Rosa takes a deep breath, her neutral frown deepening into one of marked displeasure. She never thought she would miss Amy’s nosiness, but at least when the shorter woman was being a busy-body she was happy.

It’s been three weeks since Santiago came back to work. Twenty days since they kissed in Babylon. Amy hasn’t looked Rosa in the eye since.

It’s not exactly tearing Rosa apart – she is an adult and can deal with rejection. Usually through alcohol and meaningless sex, but everyone has their coping mechanisms, and she has learned not to dwell. Still, there is something bothering her.

Every time she looks at Amy now, there is a small ache in the pit of her stomach. Not the roiling torture that comes with a crush, but something else. She thinks about _before_ often, which is odd because the past is not a place Rosa likes to live. She thinks about right after Amy came back from the hospital, and a part of her misses it.

Not the part where she had to take care of Amy, because though she would do it as long as the other woman needed, that kind of helplessness in an otherwise self-sufficient person makes Rosa supremely uncomfortable. And not just the closeness that they had been sharing either, though the loss of that stings something awful.

No, she misses the Amy-ness that the other woman still possessed after she came home. The incessant talking she was still engaging in, even though it left her breathless and pale. The insistence that she could take care of herself – could do the dishes and wash her clothes, even though Rosa found her crumpled on the floor more than once after trying to do so.

She also sort of misses the before _before_ too. The way Amy was a weirdo mixture of innocence and sharp intelligence, like a genius alien trying to learn what it meant to be human.

She misses the banter Amy shared with Jake, and the way she would smile-frown at Boyle when he got extra excitable.

She is starting to miss the way Amy would brown nose the Captain, because Rosa knows it was less about being a yes man and more her enthusiasm about learning from the best.

She even misses the way Amy used to look at her. Like she was a rival that she would compete with even to her own detriment, but secretly also a role model.

Fuck it. Rosa just misses Amy.

This is becoming a problem, and there is only one way Rosa deals with problems. Rosa is nothing if not a woman of action.

Squaring her shoulders, Diaz marches over to Santiago’s desk. She is completely aware she is engaging in behavior she was just judging Jake for. But this is different. She doesn’t expect Amy to suddenly be magically better. She just needs her to stop hiding, to start the process of healing, to be brave, like she knows she can be, and all that other mushy but true crap.

“You’re being stupid,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Amy looks up at her, startled.

“Uh, okay… Hello to you too.”

Snorting in frustration, Rosa rolls her eyes.

“Hello. You know what I am talking about. This is dumb.” She waves a hand to accentuate her point.

Amy raises an eyebrow. “Police work?” she asks, but Rosa can tell she is misunderstanding on purpose.

The taller woman sighs. “You, me, tonight. Your place.”

Both of Amy’s eyebrows hit her hairline.

“So I don’t have a choice in this, then?”

Rosa glares.

“Avoiding me isn’t going to make this any less weird. So we’ll… talk.”

Amy looks like she is going to put up a fight – and a part of Rosa wishes she would, because that is something old Amy might do. But after a few seconds, the tension goes out of the smaller woman. Something drops in Rosa’s stomach, something heavy and cold, like disappointment.

A small glint enters Amy’s eye, though, a bit like the look she used to get as she stood at the dry erase board and one-upped Jake.

“Make it your place, and we have a deal.”

Rosa can’t help the small smirk that appears on her face. Nicely played.

“You tell anyone anything you see, and I’ll…” She trails off, realizing her automatic death threats would be in devastatingly poor taste. “I mean, uh, yeah, sure. Just, you know…” She trails off lamely.

Amy smiles, small but real. “Total bro-code of silence. Got it.”

“Yeah. Right.”

Nodding once, Rosa walks back to her desk.

Gina eyes her, humming something that suspiciously sounds like ‘Amy and Rosa, sittin’ in a tree.’

One glare, and the other woman stops, though she makes a big show of rolling her chair around so she faces the Captain’s office. Whatever.

Settling into her own chair, Rosa feels her face contort oddly. Her eyes stray back to Amy, who is once again staring intensely at her computer screen. The feeling in her face becomes tighter, and she realizes that she is smiling.

_tbc..._


	3. Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Rosa have a heart to heart. Things don't go the way either one wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN1: Completely unbeat'd.  
> AN2: Sequel to Multiple Impacts.  
> AN3: SO the next part will be not so serious... promise...

Amy should be nervous – _Old Amy_ would be nervous – but watching Rosa as the taller woman fumbles with her keys allows her to feel a small amount of control. It’s a nice feeling, one that has been sorely lacking since she was hurt. Though it’s unfortunate that it comes at Rosa’s expense, even that has its own sort of appeal.

Rosa wipes her palms on her pants, and Amy hides a smile.

They settle in the living room, which is tastefully – if minimally – decorated. Some trophies and awards clutter a shelf opposite the television, and a few old movie posters hang, professionally framed, on bare wall space. There is a decent sized bookshelf near the entrance to a hallway that Amy assumes leads to the bathroom and bedroom.

Rosa moves to the kitchen and gets them drinks, lingering for a second in front of Amy as she hands it over, before sitting down on the coffee table in front of her.

“So,” Rosa says, sipping her whiskey.

Amy blinks rapidly, tensing against the shivers that dance up her nerves. She knows, somewhere, that this might be partially related to her scattered state of mind, but right now all she wants to do it lean in and breathe in Rosa’s scent. She remembers it being warm and soothing, something that makes her feel safe. Instead, Amy takes a gulp of her apple juice – Rosa knows she hasn’t had a drop of anything stronger since she was hurt – and coughs a bit.

“So…” she replies, and it is like her conversation with Jake, except that she wishes Rosa would do all the talking instead of none.

“So... Talking…”

Amy bites the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. She appreciates the effort Rosa is going through, and finds her adorable as much as a stoic badass who can stop criminals in their tracks with a stare can be adorable.

“Yes, talking…”

Rosa rolls her eyes.

“Come on, you know I don’t do the sappy, huggy conversation crap.”

Amy nods, taking another sip of her juice before putting down near Rosa’s thigh. It takes all her willpower not to reach out and run her fingers along the dark slacks. She is becoming fixated on Rosa the way that a drowning man becomes fixated on the wavering, hazy light coming from the surface of the water. She knows it is crazy, but a part of her believes that she will finally be able to breathe easy and free if she just… touches Rosa.

“I know. And I appreciate it,” Amy says, pulling her hands back to her own personal space and forcing them into her lap. “I just… I don’t know what to say.”

This is a bald-faced lie. Amy knows what to say. There are thousands of words that are building up inside her, crowding at her throat, clawing to get out, to be set loose. But she feels, with a certainty that is absolute, that if she starts speaking she will not stop – she will continue on until she is an empty shell, a husk, until there is nothing left of who she was, and all that there is, is the person she has become since the shooting.

Amy shrugs helplessly, grimacing an apology. Rosa huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“This was a lot easier before you came back to work.” Rosa has always been curt and brutally honest, but there is something gentle and almost wistful about her words.

Amy misses their effortless interactions too, but not as much as she fears her own words cracking her like an egg and leaving her spilled all over the floor. So she deflects again.

“Yeah, um, I never thanked you… for that.”

Rosa looks uncomfortable and shrugs it off.

“No need.”

Now Amy raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah there is. You basically lived with me for over a month.”

“Whatever.”

“No, not whatever. You never even let me pay for groceries, or laundry either. You were over so much, your boyfriend must have thought you were undercover!”

The last is said as casually as possible. Amy has noticed a distinct lack of any pictures of men – of anyone really. There is an absence of anything that would indicate any sort of regular visitor, though Amy hasn’t had a chance to see the bathroom yet.

Her attraction to Rosa undeniable, especially after how she practically attacked the other woman in Babylon, and Amy would be lying to herself if she didn’t feel guilty at the prospect of being a home wrecker. Not that she thought Rosa would cheat… Just that she wished the other woman would, and that made her feel dirty and like she should leave.

Rosa looks at her like she can see right through her. Her expression is a mix of mild amusement and reassurance, all conveyed through the eyes.

“We broke up.”

“Oh?” Amy asks, putting on her best air of indifference.

Rosa is not fooled.

“Yeah.”

Something breaks loose in Amy’s chest, and she takes a deep breath. Silence fills the room for a bit, and in it Amy looks at Rosa like she has wanted to since she woke up in that hospital bed, like she is allowed to want to now. A familiar tension takes hold of them, like all those times during the early part of Amy’s recovery, except now Amy doesn’t have to turn away; she is free to act on her desire. Amy stares at Rosa’s lips.

“We’re supposed to be talking,” Rosa reminds her, not impressed with the way Amy is distracted.

A surge of annoyance flashes through the shorter woman. She matches Rosa’s pose, arms crossed over her chest; she is not nearly as intimidating, regardless of her pique.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to have a big meltdown, so that you can swoop in and be the hero?”

It is entirely unfair, and Amy regrets it as soon as it comes out of her mouth. Still, she can’t bring herself to apologize.

Rosa raises her eyebrow sharply, but her voice is gentle as Amy has ever heard it, infinitely patient.

“This is the part where you say whatever you need to say.”

Amy leans forward, hand sliding up Rosa’s thigh with a false confidence no one would believe.

“And if I don’t have anything to say?"

Rosa puts a hand over Amy's, stopping its progress but not pushing her away.

“Then don’t. But I bet you do. No judgment, you can just say whatever.”

Rosa’s eyes are kind but strong, and so inviting. Amy’s chest is suddenly a vice, and her ribs creak and ache. She pulls back, practically collapsing into herself.

“And what if what I have to say is... stupid, or crazy?”

“Did I stutter? I said, no judgment.”

“I… I…”

The shaking that starts is so fine, Amy barely notices at first. But quickly, the world is quivering and quaking, like the ground is going to come apart under her. She gasps. Rosa starts to move forward, but Amy waves her off. She needs to do this.

“I… I’m afraid…” She admits. It feels like the hardest thing she has ever had to do. Rosa nods once, taking a deep, shuddering breath of her own. Amy continues. “I’m numb most of the time, and when I’m not, I am terrified. It’s like a shitty rollercoaster I can’t get off of.” There are no tears, only words that squeeze out of a closed throat. “But, what scares me the most is that the… numbness… that it won’t go away…”

Rosa rests a hand on her knee, and she grabs it, uses it like an anchor, because the words are coming now, like a torrent or a monsoon. And through it Rosa sits, face impassive, which lets Amy really let go, though when it is over, there are tears in the corners of the other woman's eyes. Amy’s face remains dry. She feels like a raw, exposed nerve, which is better than she has felt in like forever.

 

Rosa walks Amy home. They stand outside her apartment door for exactly one minute before Amy invites her in, and Rosa declines.

“Look, we both know we want to bone.” Rosa says, when Amy’s face falls. “That isn’t the issue.”

“Then what?”

“You’ve… been through a lot in the last few months. It wouldn’t be right.”

“What, so I am too crazy? I thought no judgment!”

“You’re not crazy, you’re traumatized. No shame in that.” Amy gapes, insulted; Rosa shrugs. “I am not going to take advantage of you just to scratch an itch.”

“There are so many things wrong with what you said, I can’t even…”

“What?”

“Take advantage? Scratch an itch? That is the most insulting bullcrap I have ever heard.”

“Look, I helped you when you were feeling low. We’re partners, I would do it again, but-"

“Oh please! First of all, I am a grown ass woman, and if I wanna bang someone, I am totally capable of making that decision!”

Rosa can't help herself. “Really? Bang?”

“Whatever, you say bone!”

Rosa’s eyebrow is less intimidating now, and much more annoying. Amy takes a long, deep breath.

“You aren’t better than me.”

“I never said-”

Amy holds up a finger.

“No. But you are acting like it. Like you have all the answers, and poor little Amy needs you to show her the way. Well, that is just… ridiculously condescending. I am adult. I may have suffered trauma, but I more than that.”

Rosa cocks her head to the side, frowning deeply. She seems to realize her verbal frugalness has led her down a dangerous path.

“I know. I was there once. Your impulse control is gonna be all over the place. It can lead to some… really bad mistakes.”

“I seem to be resisting the impulse to shake you pretty well. Mostly because I know you could twist me into a pretzel without breaking a sweat, but, whatever. And, second, maybe those are my mistakes to make! I get to make that call, not you.”

Rosa is silent, hardly breathing, like she is afraid to make the wrong move. It makes Amy angrier, makes her feel like the other woman thinks she is a wild animal on the verge of going ballistic. She knows that she is being unreasonable, that Rosa doesn’t think of her as less than, but she can’t help herself. In the absence of a tangible target, Rosa has become the face of Amy’s fears, where she was once a touchstone of security.

"Amy..." Rosa whispers, hand out as if to placate a feral animal. "You know it's not like that. I just don't want you to wake up tomorrow and regret it.

“You know what, that is fine. You’re right. We would have been a mistake. Thanks for saving me the trouble.”

Amy turns, fully intent on throwing open the door and storming in. Except that the door is locked, and she ends up pancaked against it. She has it open in another five seconds, but the sting of embarrassment is still sharp.

When she turns, Rosa is standing there looking at her like she wants to say something but can’t bring herself to. There is no amusement in her expression, only a weird sort of sadness, and that is almost worse.

Amy closes the door in her face, slowly, like she is giving the other woman a chance to stop her. She doesn’t.

Back against the door, Amy’s breath leaves her in a whoosh, and she slides down until she is sitting on the ground. She can’t decide whether she wants to cry or scream, so she settles for laughing.

On the other side of the door, Rosa raises her hand to knock, but lets it fall back to her side.

“Shit.”

_tbc..._


	4. Blow Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosa snaps, Jake gets punched in the face, Amy offers cookies, and masked men make life more interesting at the Nine Nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for taking so long on this part, I made it a bit longer. The next 2 parts are written, just have to type 'em up.

Santiago isn’t being nosy. If when she goes to make copies of a report, she happens to overhear Boyle trying to convince Diaz to take part in “Operation How Stella Got Her Groove Back,” it is because he is speaking way too loud.

If she opens a letter and happens to read a note to Rosa from Gina, detailing a secret rendezvous in Babylon to discuss the “Amy Situation” – this makes her twinge a little inside, but she resolutely ignores it – it is only because it is left, unmarked, on her desk, and she needs to know who it was intended for. She slips the enveloped letter onto Rosa’s desk when the other woman is eating lunch.

And really, if she just happens to be outside Babylon just as Rosa shoves open the door, looking back over her shoulder and growling ‘mind your own business’ at Gina, it is only because she is tired of feeling like a bug in the jar of the bullpen, and is looking for reprieve.

She barely has time to jump out of Rosa’s way as she storms away from the secret bathroom.

“Shit. Amy.” Rosa grunts, reaching out to steady the smaller woman. Her hand stops short of making contact, face briefly contorting in what could be regret. Amy feels the heat and pressure of her hand anyway, sways towards Rosa, trembling for a moment, before pulling herself together.

“Rosa… Hey.” She tries for casual, but even to her own ears the words sound stunted.

“Hey.” Rosa responds in kind, stoic, though Amy has gotten good at reading the taller woman’s expressions, can see the uncertainty in her eyes.

“So…” Amy trails off, words again coming out lame. Her fingers twitch, like she’s typing on an invisible keyboard, and she makes fists in an attempt to still them.

Rosa raises an eyebrow. “How’ve you been?” She asks in that deadpan sort of way that she has, which tries to imply that she couldn’t care less about the answer, but really means she is hanging on every word.

The first time Amy heard that particular was on a DV turned murder they were working together.  A distant part of her is charmed and concerned that it is directed at her.

“Oh, you know…” Amy catches sight of Gina, who is leaning against the door jam, staring at them with the intensity of a mongoose stalking its prey. Which is what she is, in Amy’s opinion, an annoying weasel who should mind her own business.

The thought is unkind and uncalled for, and Amy flushes in shame.

Rosa looks over her shoulder and glowers at Gina, who sighs dramatically and throws her hands in the air.

“Fiiiiine,” she whines, awkwardly rising to Pointe and toe walking, badly, past the other two women. She slap-grabs Rosa’s ass on the way past.

“Hey!” Rosa snaps, but there is no heat to it, only a resigned sort of annoyed acceptance. White hot jealousy flashes through Amy, but she immediately tamps it down, knowing she doesn’t have the right.

“I can tell this is an ‘A’ and ‘B’ convo, so I’m gonna ‘C’ my way out of it. Okay? Okay! Have fun angsting the place up. Be sure to use the febreeze after, dom’t need your bad vibes throwing off my jam. Toodles!”

Gina is gone with a swish.

“Well, that was…”

“Stupid.” Rosa offers, shrugging. “She’s being more of a pain in the ass than usual.”

“Hmmm, yeah… So, what were you guys talking about?” Amy asks, scratching at the back of her neck, trying for nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Rosa snaps, suddenly agitated.

“I-I don’t.” Amy winces at how weak her reply sounds. Of course she cares; she wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

“Good.”

They stand, Rosa frowning, Amy fidgeting and clearing her throat. After a few moments, Rosa’s expression softens, and she sighs.

“How are you, really?”

Swallowing hard, Amy attempts a casual smile, but from the look on Rosa’s face, she can tell she has failed. She cringes instead, shrugging with one shoulder.

“You know… surviving.” Her smile is sincere this time, but only because it is self-deprecating.

“Not sleeping, huh?” Rosa asks, and Amy flashes back to mugs of warm milk and honey, and Rosa in old Academy sweats sitting next to her on the couch.

“No… not really.”

Rosa nods once, regret flashing over her face for a moment as she runs her fingers through thick curls.

“I know you don’t usually go for being medicated, but you really need to get rest so you can heal. I’m sure the doctor can prescribe you something. Nothing intense, but you know, so you can sleep.”

Rosa has that look on her face, the one she would get right before she would pull Amy into her arms when she was having a panic attack, all soft around the eyes and mouth. It makes Amy feel safe. It’s why she doesn’t think before she responds.

“What doctor?”

“Dr. Lipchitz…” The taller woman blinks slowly, her expression hardening. Amy gulps. “The staff psychologist who is supposed to be handling your trauma counseling now that you’re back at work. The one you are supposed to be seeing twice a week.”

Amy wishes that there was some way that the ground could open up and swallow her whole. She closes her eyes for a second and holds her breath, but after a few seconds when she is still standing there, she opens her eyes again and settles for avoiding Rosa’s eyes.

“Oh. Yeah. Him.”

“You haven’t gone. At all. Have you?”

“I…”

Santiago thinks hard about lying, really considers it, but knows it is futile. She is the world’s worst fibber, and Diaz can smell lies a mile away, like some sort of genetically altered hound that detects bullshit instead of blood. Or a polygraph, maybe that would be more accurate. A polygraph with amazing hair and a scary glower.

“No. No I haven’t. I just don’t see the point.”

“You don’t see the point?” Rosa repeats, eyes narrowing as if she is trying to decipher some sort of advanced code. It makes her nose crinkle, the effect both endearing and a little frightening.

“Yes?”

“Is that a question or answer?”

“Yes?” Amy tries again.

Rosa takes a long, deep breath, body tight with barely restrained anger. As the air leaves her in a loud rush though, the fight seems to go out of her, and she is left looking defeated.

“Whatever,” she says, and it is like a punch to Amy’s gut. “You’re a grown woman who can make your own decisions. It’s too bad you’re making a stupid one.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!”

Amy doesn’t think she has ever had such a fierce look directed at her in her life.

“Life isn’t fair! The Detective Santiago I know understands that. She fought hard for everything she has.”

“Rosa…” Amy whispers, a mixture of sadness, fear, and shame mixing in her chest. She is trying – she really is. Why can’t her friend see that?

“No. The Detective Santiago I know would make sure that she takes care of business – wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of her being the best. She would not hesitate.”

“I was shot! God, Rosa, I almost died.”

“You think I don’t know that?! I was there, Amy. More than you were. I had to see it. I had to see you lying there, knowing you took bullets for me – that you were bleeding out because I was too slow.”

“I…”

Rosa holds up a hand and shakes her head, but Amy ignores it.

“I’m, I’m sorry you had to go through that. But, it’s… I… You don’t understand.”

“If anyone does, it’s me. But what you aren’t getting is that this is not something that is just going to go away.  It will get worse, until you can’t work. Until you can’t sleep, or eat – until you can’t function.”

Now Amy was annoyed – not quite angry, but on her way.

“And what? You’re telling me you just skipped off to see a shrink? You never let anyone help you with anything. When you broke you arm three years ago, you threatened to kill the doctor unless he let you set your own bone!”

Rosa shrugs.

“He was a quack.”

“He was the Chief of Orthopedics!”

“Whatever. Not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is, mental health is different. That woman I told you about – the one that got mugged in that alley because I was too much of a wuss to patrol it properly?”

“Yeah?”

“She came to see me at the station – to thank me for helping her.” Rosa looked disgusted with herself. “I didn’t deserve that. I _let_ her get mugged – that was my fault. And there she was, thanking me.” Her glare turns towards Amy, full force. “Is that what you want?”

“It’s… That’s not the same…”

“You’re right, it’s more important. We’re detectives. We put away really bad people. Rapists. Murders. People that ruin people’s lives on a massive scale.” Pausing, Rosa, looks at Amy’s chest. It is the least sexual look Amy has ever gotten. “People like that guy that shot you.”

Santiago swallows hard, ignoring the urge to hyper ventilate, mind idly noting that this may the most talking she has ever heard the other woman do before.

“That guy – turns out he cleaned over a dozen people’s life savings out. Two of ‘em… They lost hope.” Rosa pauses, reaching out and taking both of Amy’s shoulder’s in her hands, holding firmly. “I know I gave you shit, Santiago, but you saved my life.”

“Rosa…”

“You did. Plain and simple.” Rosa lets her hands drop, running one through her hair restlessly. “I’m not asking you to do that again. What I _am_ asking is that you save yourself. You’re drowning. I know because I was there. It seems fine now, but it gets unbearable really quick.”

Diaz doesn’t give her enough credit – she may be shaky, but she is holding it together. She wants to say as much, but the look on the taller woman’s face is subtly pleading, and she can’t bring herself to be contrary.

“Don’t let that happen. If you did, if you lost everything you’ve worked so hard for over me…”

Rosa closes her eyes, clearly pained, and Amy can’t help but reach out and cup her cheek. Rosa flinches but doesn’t pull away, leaning into the contact briefly instead. Amy swears she feels the other woman’s lips brush over her palm, but she can’t be sure.

“Please. At least talk to the doctor once. If you can’t do it for you, do it for me.”

Then, Rosa is moving, kissing her soft and sweet, before pulling away and disappearing back into the prescient.

Dazed, Amy can only blink hard a few times and lean against the wall for support.

“Fuck…”

 

Jake Peralta has never seen Rosa Diaz so emotionally effected before. Which is saying something, because they have been friends – as much as it is possible to be friends with someone as enigmatic and evasive as Rosa Diaz aka the Latina Loch Ness Monster – since the Academy.

He has seen her all manner of mess. Drunk and bleeding after a bar fight (you should have seen the other guy). Pissed after a breakup (also should have seen the other guy). He’s seen her after three days of no sleep.

He was the first person she called after her one and only car accident (three broken ribs, a busted collarbone, and a shiner that took up half her face). He was there the first time she caught a case that involved the death of a child (a DV case that turned murder; the perp was conveniently left in a room alone with Diaz and no camera), and the first time she fired her weapon at a perp.

They had seen each other through a lot of crap, but through it all, Rosa had a steel sort of reserve about her. She wasn’t a machine – if you knew where to look there was emotion – but she was stoic as a statue.

Which is why watching Rosa now, as she stands in the center of the boxing ring (it was nice having a gym attached to the prescient), her skin sweat slick, face red from exertion and the few hits she’s taken, Jake is a little worried. It’s all in the eyes with Diaz, and right now they are wild and way too bright, like his were after the first time he saw the extended cut of Apocalypse Now and couldn’t stop shaking and couldn’t talk for a whole day. She the look of someone who had see things she shouldn’t, and was fighting to try and forget.

“Rosa,” he calls, coming up to the ring and waving her over. She ignores him.

There is a long line of men waiting to jump in and take her on. He looks at them with concern, but then spots the cluster of men she has already defeated. He goes a little starry-eyed with pride, impressed. She is such a bad ass.

 “ROSA!” He tries again, at a loud stage whisper.

“What?” she barks, pacing the length of the enclosed space. He gestures for her to come to him wildly, and she huffs in annoyance, but comes towards him.

“Whatcha dooooin’?”he asks, at a loss for words now that he has her attention.

He wants to ask her about what’s wrong, wants to find out what is up with Amy, since Rosa is the only one she seems to talk to these days. Except that something major happened between them, and now Santiago isn’t talking to anyone. All the crap that is going on is a recipe for disaster, and Peralta is nothing if not a problem solver, and wants nothing more than to help his friends.

Especially Amy, who he totally doesn’t like, but feels all weird and stupid around, which clearly means there is something wrong with her and he has to help fix it.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Rosa sneers at him as if he is an idiot.

“Okay, fair enough…” he trails off again.

Talking to Rosa about emotional or personal stuff is like juggling chainsaws. Blindfolded. You’re likely to lose a hand, and it is probably a much better idea in your head than in practice. Still, they are bros, and she clearly needs him… It’s a dirty job, but if he won’t meddle for Rosa’s own good, no one will. Which is just sad, because everybody should have a fried that meddles.

“So… ya busy?” he asks, giving her his best _ain’t I adorable_ smile.

“Jake.” Rosa deadpans, impatient. She starts to move away.

“D-ah, hey, what’s up with you and Amy? She’s acting weird – weirder than she has been, lately. Since Gina said the two of you had, and I quote, ‘a conversation that bypassed the Uhaul and the turkey baster, and skipped right to deciding who gets the cats,’ end quote. What the what?”

He winces at his own outburst, but it stops Rosa from moving, so maybe it is for the best.

Or, maybe it isn’t, because Rosa isn’t moving – not even to breathe.

After a solid minute of nothing, during which Jake squirms uncomfortably, Rosa blinks, as if coming out of a daze.

“We are not talking about this,” she informs him, cold and hard like stone, turning away. Jake finds her tone both terrifying and oddly sexy. He files that reaction away, into the vault, to be examined never.

“Goddamn it Rosa, will you tell me what is going on?” he demands firmly, in his ‘spy voice.’ “You and Amy are avoiding each other like the plague, and Gina has been _nice_ to her, and I’ve caught Amy pacing outside the Captain’s door three times in the last two days, mumbling something about shrunken heads…”

Diaz stops, looking at him over her shoulder, eyes troubled. Peralta can tell she is trying to keep her game face on, and it makes him worry more.

“Leave it alone Jake. Please,” she asks, voice soft – quiet.

He frowns, steeling himself before stepping into the ring.

“No. You’re both my friends, and I will help you if I can. Please let me help you!”

He grabs her shoulder and spins her to face him, flinching away as if expecting her to strike.

“What the heck, Peralta?”

Gulping, he winces as he straightens back up. In for the penny, in for the dollar.

“Since you won’t play ball, I have a proposition for ya…”

“Jake…” The warning is clear. He ignores it with the skill of a kid hyped up on sugar avoiding bedtime.

“We fight. I win, you have to help me with Operation HSGHGB. I lose, you talk to Amy and straighten out whatever happened between you two.”

“Absolutely not.” The response is immediate and vehement.

"All right, fine. To sweeten the deal, if you win, I promise to leave you alone about this, and any other schemes I come up with for a month.”

At that, Diaz looks intrigued, and Peralta can’t help but feel a little hurt. His plans and schemes are brilliant, and he is underappreciated. Still, whatever works.

Before he really knows what is going on, Jake is being outfitted with boxing gloves – a friendly beat cop named Rivera rolling up the sleeves of his shirt for him and taking his tie. The line of hopeful contenders boos him and he hops around, getting a feel for the unsteady mat.

“Kick his ass, Diaz!” someone shouts from the crowd.

“Okay, ouch, uncalled for,” Jake protests, glaring into the assembled crowd.

“What do you expect when you skip the line?” Rosa asks oh-so-reasonably.

“Whatever. Why are there so many guys lining up to get flattened by you, anyway?”

Rosa shrugs, smacking her gloves together a few times, the sound as appealing as it is threatening.

“They are either hoping to take me down and prove women don’t belong in the ring or on the Force, or, they’re hoping I take them down because they are too poor or too cheap to pay for rough treatment."

“Rosa!” Jake gasps, covering his mouth with his hand as if he is scandalized. The smirk she gives him makes him think he might be making progress.

A trainer steps between them, cutting off their banter.

“All right kids, remember – no hitting below the belt, no going for the throat.” He looks meaningfully at Rosa when he says this, and Jake gives her a look. She shrugs, rolling her eyes. “We don’t want a repeat of last month, Diaz. Wallace is still talking funny.”

“Yeah Diaz – wait, what?” Jake turns questioning eyes on the trainer.

“He shouldn’t have called me that. If you can’t say something nice, I’ll make sure you can’t say anything at all.”

“Okay, that is both terrifying and hot.” Rosa shakes her head, annoyed, and Jake does it with her. “No? Okay, right.”

The detectives touch gloves, and the trainer steps out of the ring.

And then, Jake is on his back, looking blurrily up at the lights on the ceiling. His left cheek stings something awful.

“Stay down, Peralta,” Rosa says, intruding into his line of vision.

“No way,” he exclaims, trying to jump up to his feet. He manages the move with the grace of a pregnant yak.

They touch gloves again.

“Jake, what are you doing?”

He bobbed and weaved, looking for an opening, movements making him appear as if he were a drunk man.

“Fighting to make you come to your senses.”

He takes a swing, which she blocks almost as an afterthought.

“I’m not gonna join Operation Smooth Moves, or whatever.”

Throwing another ineffective punch, Jake shakes his head in mild disappointment at his partner.

“Okay, first of all, Operation Smooth Moves sounds like a dance competition for people with IBS.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly. Second, It’s Operation HSGHGB. Short for –”

“I know what it’s short for.”

“Oh. Well, okay, why did you say it wrong? My code names are flawless and top notch, you know th–hurk!”

She punches him in the stomach just to shut him up. He doesn’t fall again, but loses his train of thought.

“Uuuugh, Rooooosa!”

“You wanna dance, cookie dough boy?”

He shushes her, looking around nervously, admonishing her in a harsh whisper.

“We swore we would never speak of that again!”

“I said no such thing,” she says, shrugging, but she is smirking in a way that he thinks means she is teasing.

“Look, let’s be honest, clearly my plan is brilliant and deserving of a Nobel Prize.”

“They don’t give out Nobel’s to dumbasses for half-cocked meddling.”

“Hey. There is no half about Little Jake!”

“Really? Little Jake?”

“Jake the Snake?”

She doesn’t grace that with a verbal answer, choosing instead to gut punch him again. He gasps and doubles over, holding up one hand weakly as a shield.

“Okay… I get it… not a fan… of the plan.” He glances up at her as she readies her fists again, and he cringes but forces himself upright again."Maybe you disagree with me about Operation HSGHGB.”

“Definitely disagree.”

“But, I know you and Amy got close during her recovery.”

“Jake…” She sounds tired all of a sudden.

“No, you did. Which is totally cool, that you went all Ya-Ya Sisterhood of the Traveling Bra, or whatever.”

“It’s Pants, not Bra. And those are two different movies.”

“Okay, well, it’s a little weird that you know that, but we can get into that later. The point is, Santiago trusts you. Maybe she would talk to you about stuff, except something happened between you two, and now everything is all discombobulated.”

“Hey! Are you two gonna fight or sit around drinking tea?” One of the men waiting barks, thumbing his nose – Jake cannot believe there is someone who literally thumbs their nose – at them.

“Shut up, De Santos,” Rosa growls.

“Just sayin’…” De Santos mutters, but wisely moves away from the edge of the ring when Diaz takes a step in his direction, flipping Jake off as he backs up.

“Real mature, De Santos." Jake turns back to Rosa, rolling his eyes and indicating De Santos in a 'this guy' gesture of his chin. "As I was saying, before I was RUDELY INTERRUPTED, you guys were totally bosom buddies before this weirdness. Maybe you should apologize and see if she, you know… needs help?”

“What makes you think this is my fault?” Diaz has an incredible talent for making her voice dangerous and gravelly – Peralta would give up his third turn table for that ability.

“Nothing. At all. As far as I have seen, you have been awesome. But, does it really matter whose fault a fight is, when one person is as low as Amy is?” He has her, he can tell. “You haven’t spoken for over a week. Who else do you think she is talking to?”

She sigh-groans and jabs him lightly in the nose.

Tears spring up in Peralta’s eyes, but really, it doesn’t hurt that bad at all. And he is too much of a manly bad ass for crying anyway. “It’s either you talk, or my plan talks… you know what I mean.” His voice is nasally and muffled, and he catches her in a small grin.

 Instead of answering, Diaz raises her guard. He does too, mostly because his body still functions enough for automatic self-preservation. He has exactly enough skill to block her first punch.

“Hey! I totally bl-”

But not the next one. Or the one after that.

Within a minute, he is on the floor again, with a great view of the ceiling. Rosa looms over him, offering a hand up. The lights frame her head like a halo, and for a moment she appears to him like some sort of vision of an avenging angel. He gulps.

“Fine. I’ll talk to her,” she accedes, helping him up, and he can’t help but be a little smitten.

He watches her hop out of the ring and walk towards the women’s locker room, to a chorus of annoyed groans and complaints.

“Hey!” De Santos gripes, glaring at Jake, who is still in the ring. “I was next!”

“Duty called, fellas, and our dear detective Diaz answered.”

“That’s bullshit, Peralta! I had next!”

“Yeah? Well, in the words of my 7 year old cousin, ‘too bad, so sad,’ and also na, na na na, n-hey!”

De Santos grabs the front of Jake’s shirt, cutting him off.

“Oh no, buddy. If she’s gone, you’re taking her place.”

“But-but-”

“The only ‘but’ is the one I am gonna kick, Peralta.”

“God, you’re so laaaaame….” Jake attempts to mock, but trails off into a squeaky hiss as De Santos vaults into the ring and rips off his shirt, revealing a perfectly sculpted boxer’s body.

“I think my Golden Gloves would be to differ.”

“Golden… gloves…uh…” De Santos raises his hands. Jake gulps again. “Mommy?”

 

Rosa corners Amy in the locker room the next morning, mindful of the minuscule privacy, but needing to be done with this talk. This was why she doesn’t do feelings, and why she didn’t mix work with personal life. She hates when things get awkward.

Rosa approaches as Amy is putting her jacket in her locker.

“Hey.” She leaves enough room for Amy to escape if she really wants to.

“Hey,” the shorter woman replies, eyes downcast, but peaking through her lashes.

Rosa sighs; time to bite the bullet. Rosa _hates_ apologizing. “Look, I’m sorry for how I acted the other day. I had no right to go off on you like that.”

“No, I’m sorry. I, you were right. About the Dr. Lipchitz. I-”

“Amy,” Diaz interrupts, gently, like she is reminding Amy of something important.

“Yeah?”

“You went through something heavy. I… I was lucky enough that you trusted me to help.” The taller woman runs a hand through her hair, blowing out a breath. “Everyone handles things at their own pace. I’m sorry I got impatient with you. That was not cool. I won’t do it again.”

The words are robotic, and Rosa frowns when she says them, but the sentiment shines through her eyes, and Amy can’t help but smile.

“Did you memorize that speech?”

“What? No way. Memorizing speeches is for losers.”

“What? I practice speeches all the time! When I was seven, I worked on my turtle's eulogy for two days in front of the mirror. We had to put her in the freezer so she wouldn’t… you know.”

Amy can practically hear Rosa blink, and cringes a bit at her admission.

“I am choosing not to comment.”

“Thank you.”

Shaking her head to clear away any retort that lingers, Rosa clears her throat. “I know I don’t have any right to say this, but, I’m here if you want to talk, or whatever.”

“Or whatever?” Amy asks, raising an eyebrow, and it sets the taller woman’s teeth on edge.

When she isn’t on her guard, Rosa remembers how soft Amy’s mouth is, and the little noises she makes if you kiss her just so. These are thoughts in no way conducive to the shorter woman’s recovery, and they fill Rosa half with shame and half with longing. Now is not the time to go down that path. Amy doesn’t really know what she wants. Rosa was there when she was completely vulnerable, and the gratitude can turn to all sorts of other things.

“You know what I mean, Santiago,” Diaz says, flat but not unkind.

“Oh… Okay.” Amy looks a little crest fallen, and it tugs at the edges of what could be Rosa’s heart, though she would deny it to the death.

“This is me being responsible, Santiago. You know it’s the right move.”

“Yeah,” Amy mutters, but it sounds like it is spelled ‘no.’

They walk out into the bullpen together, close but not quite touching.

“Can I ask a favor?”

Rosa squints, cautious. “Sure.”

“Would you mind, uh, coming over this weekend?” Rosa raises an eyebrow, but Amy waves her hand in the air quickly, like she is trying to dispel bad air. “As a friend. Totally friendly. It’s just, I have this new cookie recipe Boyle gave me that I want to try. I was thinking of making a batch for the Captain, as a thank you, but the recipe makes like 3 dozen, so…” She trails off, blushing a little.

 Rosa can’t help the small smile that touches the corner of her mouth.

“Please tell me it doesn’t involve jalapeños or weird cheese.”

Amy scrunches up her face at the thought.

“Cinnamon vanilla ginger oatmeal cookies, with cranberries and apple chunks.”

They are standing at Amy’s desk now. Rosa nods, impressed. They will either be the tastiest cookies ever, or immediately make someone hurl. Either way, it is totally worth it.

“Sure. But there will be beer. Which I am buying because you have the worst taste in alcohol.”

“What’s wrong with Blue Moon? All the girls that hang out on the stoop love it!”

Rosa makes a face. “Okay grandma.”

Before Amy can respond, the door to the bullpen bursts open, and two men storm in. They wear black track suits and black ski masks. They also hold big, black guns.

“FREEZE! EVERYONE GET DOWN!” The taller one shouts, waving his gun around.

Diaz rolls her eyes and starts to move forward, fully intent on kicking Peralta’s ass – he is lucky the Captain isn’t here to see this nonsense – but Amy grabs her arm and yanks her back.

“Relax the Kung-fu Grip, Santiago. It’s just Peralta and Boyle being stupid.”

Rosa tries to move again, but Amy’s grip gets tighter, and she shakes her head, pointing to the break room with her free hand.

“No. It isn’t.”

Diaz looks, stomach lurching as she sees Peralta and Boyle staring at the masked gunmen from over gourmet pizzas from the rickety table. A half chewed chunk of food slides thickly out of Jake’s mouth, landing on the table with a muted splat. Charles looks pale, eyes shiny and showing too much white.

Amy blinks hard and gulps.

“Shit.”


	5. Operation: How Stella Got Her Groove Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tear away pants, a reprimand, and a heart to heart conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN1: Un-beated. All Mistakes my own.  
> AN2: Home stretch. Just the epilogue, which I promise to post within a week.

“I said, FREEZE!” the taller man shouts again, motioning to Terry – who is edging towards them – with his gun. “Everyone, hands on your head, and move towards the back wall!”

“I’m confused. Do you want us to freeze, or do you want us to move to the wall?” Gina asks, sass at war with fear in her voice.

The shorter man, who has been quiet until now, is by her in a flash, gun in her face, wavering between her forehead and nose.

“You think this is a game? Huh!?”

“I think that the Thomas Crown Ass-fair called, and it wants its outfits back,” Gina snarks, eyeing the gun skeptically. Everyone in the room pauses, giving her confused looks. She sighs, rolling her eyes and flicking her hair off her shoulder like an impatient cat. “Because they look like shitty porn versions of cat-burglars?” she says, indicating the two men with a contemptuous rotation of her wrist.

“Gina!” Terry scolds, eyes wide and jumping back and forth between the assistant and the gun in her face. “Shut the hell up.”

“Yes, Gina. Listen to the Sergeant.” The taller criminal - Tall Perp - sneers.

“Wait, how do you know who I am?” Terry asks, frowning.

Amy lets go of Rosa’s arm and steps away. She is shaking, but has a determined look on her face – like someone who has a nagging suspicion they need to confirm, and will stop at nothing until that itch is scratched. It is the most Santiago expression that Rosa has ever seen, and it makes her chest ache a little.

“What are you doing?” the taller woman hisses, snatching at Amy’s arm. Santiago shakes it off.

“Trust me,” she assures, and continues on.

Before anyone can move, Amy is on Tall Perp, hands crossed in front of her chest.

“This has gone far enough!” she scolds, like a school teacher who is dealing with a particularly rowdy student.

“You’re wrong…” The man sneers, turning fully towards her. “It hasn’t gone far enough!”

He tosses the gun over his shoulder – it lands on Gina’s lap, oddly light, with a strange sloshing sound – and snaps his fingers. Music starts playing somewhere. It’s Tom Jones’ ‘She’s A Lady,’ and Amy nods to herself, as if she knew this would happen all along.

“Amy Santiago,” Tall Perp says, hands going to the thighs of his pants. “Time for you to get your groove back!”

The pants are off in a flash, and he is wearing nothing but a black and white striped banana hammock over his… offender. He begins to gyrate and thrust at Amy, whose eyes – after a quick look down – snap up to the ceiling.

“Okay. All right. Please put that away, sir,” she says, cheeks turning pink. This is beyond unprofessional. She is just glad the Captain – away for his monthly briefing at 1 PP – is not here to witness it.

Short Perp begins to move towards Amy and his partner, but Gina pulls him back, ripping his pants off in the process.

“Nuh-uh Dillinger, your services are needed right here.”

“Uh…”

“Get to work-work, if you want dem dollars-dollars.” Gina is insistent. Short Perp shrugs and begins to give her a lap dance.

Tall Perp has lifted his shirt, showing off a perfect set of abs, which flex and relax as he continues to move and grind to the music.

“You’re so gorgeous, it’s a crime,” he says, pressing himself against Amy and gyrating some more.

“Oh dear God!” Amy squeals, looking up at the ceiling and holding out a hand. She tries to push him away, but only succeeds in fondling his pecks. “Yikes!”

“What the HELL is going on here?” the Captain’s voice booms over the sound of the music, incredulous yet in control. Amy hopes that when she is a captain, she will have that level of mastery over her tones of voice.

The music cuts out suddenly, and everyone freezes.

“Well?”” Holt demands, walking into the bullpen and gesturing to the room at large with one stern finger.

No one speaks and no one moves, which is particularly awkward for Amy, on whom Tall Perp has paused mid grind against her, and for Short Perp, who is desperately trying to extract himself from Gina’s grabby hands.

After a time, the Sergeant clears his throat. “Sir…” he begins, but trails off, clearly at a loss. “I have no idea…”

“I leave for one morning of meetings, and I come back to this – this bacchanal, the likes of which would make Caligula blush!”

“Well, at least he’s not mad,” Peralta stage whispers to Boyle. It earns him a glare from the fuming Captain.

“Someone better start explaining.”

Again, silence reigns.

Exasperated, Holt glares at Peralta.

“Fine. Detective Peralta, you have exactly 56 seconds to explain, before you find yourself suspended.”

“Why 56 seconds?”

“49 seconds.”

“Wait, wait, no. Not me! For once I had absolutely nothing to do with the shenanigans!”

“Peralta, please. Everyone knows about Operation ‘Help Amy Win Her Groove Back.’ I let you continue your schemes only because I didn’t think you would be foolish enough to act on them. I see now that I was wrong.”

“What? No! Totally not wrong! Totally not foolish enough!” Jake stammers, a little in awe of the situation.

Leg cramping, Amy tries to shift away from the human barnacle attached to her side, but Tall Perp moves with her. With a deep glare, Rosa steps forward and shoves his away roughly.

“Back off, creep.”

The man doesn’t respond, eyes huge and round, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Peralta, this has gone far enough.” Holt’s voice brokers no argument.

“Sir, I didn’t do this, I swear.”

“Well if not you, then who?”

Holt turns and focuses the power of his glare on the half naked male stripper, who meekly raises a hand and points a finger towards the back of the room, at two clumsily retreating detectives.

“Scully? Hitchcock!”

The two men turn around, hang dog expressions on their faces.

“Gee Captain…” Scully mutters, wringing his hands together.

“We were just trying to help,” Hitchcock finishes, shrugging.

Closing his eyes for a moment, the Captain takes a series a deep breathes. When they open again, there is a frightening calm to his expression. He looks at each of the criminals-cum-strippers in turn.

“You two; gather your things and leave. If you do it quickly and quietly, I will ignore the fact that you held a squad of police officers hostage at gunpoint.”

“B-b-but, they aren’t real guns, uh, sir!” Shorter perp, who is still in Gina’s clutches. “They’re water guns, see.” He reaches for his gun, but one narrow eyed look from the Captain dissuades him. “Oh-okay, got it.”

“We, uh, we were paid for six songs…” Tall Perp says, voice cracking. Holt’s nostrils flare. “Right! We’ll just be going now.”

Holt raises an eyebrow at Gina, who sighs dramatically and lets her captive go. The two men pick up their things and scurry towards the door, giving the fuming Captain a wide berth.

“Call me!” Gina shouts at the smaller man, who blushes hard enough for it to be visible on all exposed skin but does not turn around.

When they are gone, Captain Holt points towards the briefing room.

“In there. All of you. NOW.”

In a daze, his detectives do as they are told.

 

Everyone sits backs straight in their chairs, eyes forward, studiously not looking at each other. Confusion, shame, and bit of awe and amazement float among them.

When everyone is settled, Holt stands at the podium, Sgt. Jeffords beside him, glaring like a disappointed mother.

“Someone had better explain what happened out there, or everyone may find themselves written up."

Boyle makes a high pitched sound in the back of his throat. Holt glares.

“Yes, even you Charles.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, Scully and Hitchcock rise to their feet in unison, looking at each other nervously.

"W-well ya see, Captain,” Hitchcock begins, trailing off.

“We, uh, heard about Jakey’s plan to help Amy – Operation How Stella Got Her Groove Back.”

“Thank you for getting the name right!” Peralta cheers, but is quickly silenced by glares from everyone in the room except for the not-so-dynamic duo and Boyle, who has recovered from the threat of official censure enough to give him a thumbs up and mouth, ‘best name buddy.’

“No problem Jakey,” Scully goes on, oblivious. “Anyway, at first we were confused, but then we found a VHS copy of the film in a box of my ex-wife’s old things in my closet. It really is a great film.”

“It’s not a film, it’s a thinly veiled excuse to stare at Angela Basset’s arms and Taye Diggs’ abs,” Rosa snarks.

Scully and Hitchcock frown, as if they are confused about why that would be an argument against their assessment of the movie, and Rosa has to nod and purse her lips in a ‘fair enough’ gesture.

“I bet she could crack walnuts with a flex!” Boyle agrees eagerly, eyes glazing over as he imagines Angela Basset’s perfectly sculpted biceps. “Honestly, handsome as he is, Taye is just not good enough for her…”

Rolling her eyes, Diaz wraps on the table in front of him. “Focus Charles.”

“Right!” Charles snaps to attention, schooling his face into a studious scowl.

“So,” Hitchcock picks up, a little more confident now. “After watching, we realized that Amy was in a lot of trouble if we didn’t help. She doesn’t take vacations – she just sits at home watching documentaries or going to seminars about what colors are too aggressive to wear at work - so she couldn’t meet someone to help her with her groove.” The older man turns to the younger Latina. “The answer is red. Everyone knows that Amy.”

Amy groans and lets her head thump onto the table in front of her, embarrassment burning away the last of the jittery anxiety left over from the attack.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rosa says, staring at Scully and Hitchcock, incredulous. “You seriously thought getting Santiago male strippers dressed like crappy cat burglars would help her?” She is so genuinely shocked she doesn’t even sound annoyed.

“Well, yeah…” Scully affirms, frowning. “Who has more groove than strippers?” He turns to Amy, suddenly concerned. “Unless you would have preferred lady strippers. Would that have been better, Ames?”

Amy’s head pops up like a meerkat and she goggles at Scully.

“Wait, what?”

“Would you have wanted girls?” Hitchcock says patiently, slow like one would a child who is having trouble grasping an advanced concept.

“Wha-I what? That, that isn’t. That isn’t the point!” It’s not the denial Amy wanted it to be, but she is taken aback not just by the question itself, but the quick and complete acceptance her misguided co-workers were displaying at the prospect of her homosexual tendencies.

Not that they seem to have a problem with the LGBTAQ (she still wasn’t sure of the acronym) – they had taken to Holt quickly and fondly – but she had found that often it was different when men were confronted with women of the more lavender persuasion. It was rarely taken seriously, more like a show put on for the benefit of the male gaze than anything to do with the women as autonomous beings. Not that it was fair to Scully or Hitchcock to assume they thought that way, even if they are of an older generation, and oh my god, they were gazing at her knowingly and still talking.

It takes all of Amy’s willpower not to look over at Rosa, hoping against hope that her non-denial is enough to shift the conversation back on track.

“Told ya,” Hitchcock says, raising an eyebrow at his partner in crime.

Everyone looks at Amy, even the Captain, and she does her best not to sink down in her chair. After a moment, Holt cocking his head to the side and clears his throat, turning his attention back to his two well-intentioned but misguided detectives.

“So, you thought it would be a good idea to hire… _exotic dancers_ to fake a hold up at a police station, in order to help Amy get through her trauma?” the Captain asks, tone so deadpan it is emotive.

Amy’s eye twitches at the work help (not trauma, though), and she takes it as a good sign.

“Yup.”

“Pretty much.”

Holt closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. Jake surreptitiously snaps a pic on his phone.

“Besides being _monumentally_ stupid, that is remarkably… sweet.” The Captain opens his eyes.

Now everyone stares incredulously at him.

“Awww,” Hitchcock croons, happy.

“Don’t get me wrong, I am still going to have to formerly reprimand you both, and insist that you never do anything like this again.”

“Awwww,” Scully whines, but a sharp look cuts him off.

“But your… hearts, were in the right place.” Holt nods thoughtfully. “Yes. You are all dismissed.”

Jumping to his feet, Jake pumps his fist in the air. “See, not my fault!”

“Oh, Jake, Hitchcock and I borrowed this from your desk. Sorry!”

Scully hands Peralta a piece on paper with a Venn diagram on it as he passes by. On the paper are random words, jotted down in Jake’s terrible handwriting, under the triple underlined heading of ‘ **How to help Amy get her groove back!** ’ STRIPPERS is circled, underlined, and has multiple arrows pointing to it.

Jake is speechless with fear as Rosa stomps over and snatches it from him, reading it before crumpling it up in anger and tossing it over her shoulder. It lands perfectly in the trash bin across the room.

“Dope,” Peralta says, unable to help being impressed.

Diaz growls. Peralta holds up his hands in surrender and placation.

“You’re right, it was a bad idea and all my fault?” he offers. Diaz shoves him aside and stalks out of the room.

One by one, everyone bumps passed him, except for Boyle, who pats him on the shoulder gently.

“I thought it was a good idea, Jake.”

“Thanks Charles.”

 

Amy is waiting for him at his desk.

“Before you get mad, well madder, and possibly sic Rosa on me, I just want to say that I had no intention of actually going through with my plan.”

Amy motions for him to sit, and he does without a fuss. She is taller than him this way, towering over him.

“Then why plan it at all?”

Jake sighs and leans forward in his chair, running a hand through his hair in a way that makes him look like he just woke up. It is endearing, and it gives Amy a small warm feeling in the pit of her stomach that she is glad she can still get.

“I did it because I wanted to get you out of your own head,” he says, shrugging and pulling a face.

“And how would planning something you had no intention of carrying out do that?”

“I needed to know what was going on in your head. Where you were at, emotionally.”

“And you didn’t, oh I dunno, _ask me_ because…?”

Jake doesn’t grace this with an answer, merely raises his eyebrow in a poor approximation of Holt’s patent expression. Amy nods as if he spoke out loud, looking away briefly.

"Right.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist snooping at least a little, no matter how far gone you were, which meant you would do one of three things…” Jake strokes his chin and stares off into the distance in what Amy is sure he thinks is a mysterious manner, but really just makes him look like he is having a catatonic episode.

“Three things?” she prompts, frowning harder.

Jake snaps back to the present.

“Yes, three. One, you confront me right away, which tells me you are confident in yourself enough to handle conflict, and therefore well on your way to recovery. Two, you go to Holt, which means you gathered evidence and made a detailed report, because we all know you wouldn’t go to the Captain without proof and a power point presentation. That would mean that, despite being a little shaky about head on confrontation, you are still a professional and a damn good detective, and well on your way to recovery.” Jake pauses to gasp for breath and gauge his friend’s reaction.

Amy swallows back the lump in her throat, eyes shiny with tears she refuses to let fall.

“And three?” she asks thickly.

Jake smirks, shrugging and leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Or three, you plot sweet and gnarly revenge. Probably with Rosa’s help, because she has been loud and staunch about opposing my genius plans. Thus, again, proving that while you still have doubts because of what happened, you are still the Amy Santiago that will stoop to my level to win. Which means, again, that you are well on your way to recovery.”

Nodding a few times Amy frowns.

“You forgot the fourth option.”

Jake cocks his head to the side. “The what now?”

"That I do nothing.”

“Pfft! Impossible!”

Amy can’t help but smile wanly at Jake’s confidence.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re here. Whatever difficulty you are having, you’re here.” He sighs and stands up, but makes sure to give her four feet of personal space. “I know you Amy. You are stubborn and a little scary and maybe self destructive with how determined you get, but, you would not be here if you couldn’t handle it. You’re smarter and too professional for that biz.”

He shrugs. His eyes are dark and serious and sincere, and Amy is crying. Not sobbing or  hysterical like she has been lately, but quiet and clean. It’s little more than water on her cheeks, but she feels as if she stands under the spray of a cool, cleansing waterfall.

“I kind of love you, Peralta, even if you are a giant man-child pain in the ass.”

“I kind of love you too, Santiago, even if you are a butt-kissing-though-brilliant tight wad.” His smirk is back, like the little brother she did not need. “Cuz you are a butt kissing but brilliant  tight wad, though I will deny the brilliant part til the day I die if it comes up.”

They stand staring at each other for a few moments before she rolls her eyes and goes in for a hug. It is nice. Warm and friendly and safe, if a little sticky because Jake hasn’t washed his hands since he got to work.

They pull apart, and Peralta gets a narrow eyed, shrewd look on his face.

“So, uh… Which one would you have done?”

She smirks but does not answer, play punching him in the shoulder instead before moving away.

Stopping at Rosa’s desk, Amy waits until the taller woman looks at her.

“Thank you. For everything,” she says simply, before continuing on to her own workspace.

Sitting in her chair, she swivels it around a few times, smiling to herself.

It would take a while, but just maybe, everything would be okay.

Turning to her computer, she taps the enter key and clicks on her open power point, selecting the drop down menu and hitting ‘delete.’


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot coffee, PDAs, and a hip check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: We've come to the end. Hope y'all have enjoyed!  
> AN2: Totally unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

Rosa is waiting as patiently as she can, leaning against the outside of the building with two piping hot cups of coffee in hand. Her thin, fingerless gloves mute the heat, so that her skin buzzes with pleasant warmth. She is wearing that hat she hates – the extra fuzzy navy and maroon one Amy got her when she and Terry were doing stakeouts on the docks for two weeks solid – because she knows it makes Amy smile.

Which the other woman does, ear to ear, as she reaches her girlfriend and accepts the offered to go cup.

They walk at a moderate but steady speed, falling into step with each other easily. The silence between them as they sip their café con leche is comfortable. They have an hour before they are expected back at the Nine Nine, and neither is in a rush to do anything in particular.

When they have finished their drinks, Amy takes both their cups and tosses them into the nearest trashcan. Bumping shoulders lightly, the shorter woman raises an eyebrow, mock serious.

“Food?”

“I could eat,” Rosa allows, corner of her mouth turning up in a grin. Motioning across the street with her chin, Rosa raises an eyebrow. “That Indian place serves the best samosas in Brooklyn.”

“How do you know that?”

“Boyle took me there on our monthly ‘friend date.’” Pausing, Rosa frowns. “He has got to stop calling them that.”

Amy chuckles. “Well, I think it’s cute.”

“You think it’s cute that I date other people?” Rosa asks, incredulous.

“Oh please. You would never date-date Charles.”

“Correct.”

“I just think it’s cute that you guys are getting so close.” Amy leans in as they wait for the light, winking conspiratorially. “You’re a big softy under all that leather and growling.”

“Incorrect. I am scary as hell underneath the leather and growling, as proven last week when I hip checked Terry for making fun of the scarf you gave me for my birthday.”

 

_“D’awwww.” Terry cooed as Rosa entered the squad room._

_“What?” she barked, eyes narrowing at her sergeant._

_“Nothing. It’s just… that scarf is so…”_

_“So what?”_

_“Well, pink. But, that’s ok! It’s cute!”_

_“And? I was in ballet school. I like pink.”_

_Her voice is flat and low, her eyes intense. The warning should be clear._

_“Of course, of course! It’s just that… I think my baby girls have matcvhing ones…”_

_Apparently it is not._

_To her horror, Terry comes over and plucks at the crotched edge of her birthday girl._

_“Yup. Their Grandma gave them scarves just like this.” His eyes take on a teasing gleam. “Didn’t know you were such a Pottery Barn fan, Old Lady Diaz.”_

_He smirks. The expression doesn’t last long._

_Jeffords is surprisingly easy to flip. Startled but unhurt, he coughs as he looks up at Rosa, breath stunned out of his body._

_“How clumsy of you, Sarge, tripping over my hip like that.”_

_“Yeah… how clumsy of me.”_

 

“Yes, that was indeed scary. Okay, you’re right. No mushiness at all. You are a total bad ass,” Amy agrees, biting her lip to keep from smiling fondly at the other woman.

Rosa nods, pleased, and offers her girlfriend her arm as the light changes.

It warms Amy’s heart, because she knows how much Rosa hates PDAs.

Instead of taking her arm, Amy squeezes the taller woman’s elbow gently, and reaches up to peck her cheek, just at the edge of her lips, because although they are on break, it would not be appropriate to do more. Then, she lets go and starts walking. Rosa follows after a second, face unreadable, though out of the corner of her eye Amy thinks she sees a blush.

When they reach the restaurant, Rosa hold the door open, using the gesture to allow herself to touch Amy’s lower back as the smaller woman enters. She does not pull out the Amy’s chair, though, which earns her an appreciative grin.

Diaz, despite her gruff front, is liberal with her expressions of care and affection. She hands Amy the first menu, and lets her have the crunchier samosa because she knows Amy likes the sound it makes when she bites into it. It’s subtle and maybe a bit weird, but it is so Rosa, and it works for Amy, who in return lets Rosa have the warmer piece of naan bread and the last spoonful of spicy sauce.

When they get back to the Nine Nine, Amy and Jake have caught a case – her first official case, signaling the end of desk duty. A B & E at a local pawn shop.

“Ready to roll, partner?” Jake asks, as if this is no big deal.

Amy hesitates for a moment, but then smiles and nods. Looking over at Rosa, she sees the other woman is deeply engrossed in annoyed conversation with Gina, who seems to be trying to get her to play ‘Marry/Bang/Kill’ with using the GOP Presidential hopefuls.

“Yeah,” Santiago says, attention returning to Peralta. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Picking up her jacket, Amy doesn’t look back as they head through the door. If she did, she would see her colleagues – her friends – watching her leave proudly; even Captain Holt, who stands in his doorway, eyes smiling. But of course, she doesn’t have the time. She has a job to do.

 

**fin**


End file.
